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Was it someone on Clara’s list?

The three of them took a step back and stared at their work, while in the body of the Old Train Station, the homicide agents watched from their desks, each hoping that one day they might be asked to join the senior investigators.

How did the caller know where the body was found is called Lost Nation? Isabelle added.

Local?

Why is it called that?

As they stared, Armand received a text from Reine-Marie. She was in Myrna’s bookstore with Clara, Ruth, and the archivist from the local historical society.

They had news. If something almost a century old could be called “news.”

“You know Patrice.” Reine-Marie introduced the archivist.

“I do. Bonjour.”

The young woman took Armand’s hand and blushed. All of Québec knew the Chief Inspector from the news, but this was only the second time she’d met him in person. It was inconceivable that a senior officer with the Sûreté, of all things, should become a national hero, but that’s what had inadvertently happened.

The only one who knew for sure he was not that was Gamache himself. Though Ruth and Rosa had their suspicions. As though to emphasize that, there was a muttering from the duck.

Armand joined them in the sitting area of the bookstore. On bitterly cold winter days, the woodstove would be lit. They’d warm themselves around it while talking about their next read. For now, on this warm June day, the logs were unlit but at the ready should there be a need.

“I understand you have information.”

“Madame Gamache came by this morning and asked if I knew anything about Lost Nation.”

“Oui?”

Patrice had a manila folder on her lap. She laid her hand on it. “I found this file. Sixty years ago, as part of the 1967 Canadian Centennial celebrations, the government funded a series of oral histories. This was one.”

“On Lost Nation?” asked Gamache.

“Yes. But someone got to it first.” She opened the file. It was empty.

“There’s supposed to be a transcription in there,” said Reine-Marie. “According to the records, no one has asked for that dossier in sixty years. But someone requested it in late February of this year. And again in early March.”

“Are you sure? Could the records have been tampered with? Could it have been November?”

“I guess anything’s possible,” said Patrice. “Though I don’t know how.”

“The first request was done in person,” said Reine-Marie. “We don’t have a name. The volunteer isn’t required to take it. Whoever asked for the file would have sat in the historical society to read it.”

“Man? Woman?” asked Armand.

“We asked the volunteer on duty that day, but he can’t remember.”

“But the file was given back,” said Armand. He was familiar with the historical society. It was in an old brick building. No security cameras. Most of the time, they never even locked up.

“Yes. The second request was done by computer,” said Patrice. “Which means whoever did it was a member. To have access to the records and make an online request, they’d need to put in their membership number.”

“And that was a week or so after the first request?” asked Armand.

“Yes. I can give you the exact dates,” said Patrice.

“And the name of the person who made the request,” said Armand. “If they’re a member, you must have that information.”

“We do.”